Bunny Girl Gwen Sold to the Highest Bidder (Patreon)

The backstage dressing room reeked of sweat, old latex, and cheap perfume. I could smell it clinging to my skin, to the inside of my nose, heavy and inescapable. Flickering bulbs lined the cracked vanity mirror, throwing shaky yellow light across my body. I stood there — tight black latex bunny suit painted across my fat, heavy curves, glossy and obscene under the buzzing lights.

The suit was too tight — it dug into the crease where my fat thighs fought for space, clung to the swell of my huge breasts like a second skin. Every move made it squeak against my soft skin, trapped the heat of my body, made the air around me even thicker. The ripped black pantyhose barely hid anything anymore; my hips bulged against the torn fabric, thighs jiggling with every small shift of weight.

I was supposed to be a hero.Not this.Not a prize behind some sleazy casino on the outskirts of Bellwood, rented out to alien mobsters, human perverts, and blackmarket bidders.

They made me stand there under the broken lights while the "auction" took place. No fighting, no Omnitrix — just me, sweating, heart hammering against my ribcage, feeling every hungry stare crawl across my body.

"Turn around, bunny," one of the handlers barked.

I hesitated. That earned me a hard slap across my ass — the impact jolting my fat ass cheeks, making them ripple under the sheer remains of the stockings.Choking back the sting, I turned slowly, cheeks flaming, thighs wobbling, eyes burning with shame.

The bidding started.Numbers barked in rough, alien-accented English.Fifty thousand.Seventy.Ninety.

Their voices blurred together, drowned by the hot rush of blood in my ears. I clutched the edge of the broken vanity, latex squealing as my thick arms trembled.

One voice cut through the noise — deep, slurred, smug."One hundred thousand. Cash. No rules."

Silence.Then the gavel cracked down.

The crowd parted, and he stepped through — a mountain of a man, skin dark as midnight, thick belly hanging over his belt, bald, faceless, nothing human left in his eyes. His hand wrapped around the leash dangling from my black leather choker — thick, strong, absolute.

"Mine now," he growled.

I whimpered — actually whimpered — as he dragged me to a cracked loveseat in the corner of the room, surrounded by shattered champagne glasses and torn lingerie. He yanked me down onto his lap, the latex squeaking loud and wet against his clothes.My ass flattened, fat spilling around his thick thighs, making me feel monstrous, huge, lewd.

"You like the attention, bunny girl," he murmured against my ear, breath reeking of cigars and cheap liquor.

"No," I gasped, but my voice cracked — weak, pathetic.

His big hands roamed instantly, grabbing handfuls of my fat ass, making the latex groan. He squeezed, kneaded, fingers sinking deep into the softness, leaving dents. I squirmed, shame slick between my legs, feeling my own heat betray me.

A rip.The suit split along my hip, baring the black thong underneath, stretched taut over my thick pussy lips, so wet the fabric darkened visibly.He laughed — low and ugly.

"You’re dripping, Gwen. In front of all these people."

I sobbed once, jerking my hips away instinctively — but he caught me by the leash, yanking me forward, forcing my fat body to grind against the bulge rising under me.

"Show 'em what a real Plumber's princess looks like when she’s sold," he chuckled.

My thighs shook as he guided my body, straddling him fully, grinding against the thick shape growing beneath me. My huge tits heaved, sweat trickling down the deep valley between them, dripping down my exposed cleavage, shining in the low light.

I caught my reflection in the shattered mirror across the room — a bunny-eared whore, mascara running, lips parted, riding for the pleasure of the highest bidder.

"Smile for the camera, bunny," he grunted.

He shoved a cheap smartphone into my trembling hand, forced my arm up, aiming the lens at my ruined face.The flash burst — capturing the moment forever.

"Take another," he growled.He thrust his hips up, grinding his cock harder between my ass cheeks, making me bounce, making my fat tits slap against each other.Tears spilled from my eyes, but my finger hit the capture button again, again, again.

Another flash. Another photo of Gwen Tennyson — sold, ridden, broken.

He grunted — the belt of his pants popping open. His cock sprang free, huge, dark, veined, slapping against the curve of my ass.The crowd behind us whooped and jeered.

Without waiting, he grabbed me by the hair — yanked my head down —forced my lips to part —and shoved himself between them.

I gagged instantly, nose mashing against his sweaty gut, the taste of sweat, salt, and raw musk flooding my mouth.I tried to pull back — his grip tightened — the leash jerked.Pinned. Owned.

Another flash from the phone.A selfie of me deepthroating my buyer, drool pouring from the corners of my lips, mascara dripping down my cheeks, fat tits pressed flat against his stomach.

"Mmmph!"I tried to protest — tried to pull back — but he fucked my face hard and fast, hips thrusting brutally, making my fat body jiggle with every slap.

Cum exploded into my mouth without warning — thick, hot, endless.It overflowed instantly, spilling down my chin, dripping onto my latex-clad tits, staining the ruined bunny suit forever.

He held me there — pinned, leaking, shivering.

Another photo.

The caption burned into my brain:Gwen Tennyson. Bunny Girl. Sold to the Highest Bidder.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, beyond the humiliation, beyond the heat, beyond the flood between my thighs —a sick, broken part of me wanted more.